Visiting Hours
by Anneka Neko
Summary: ONESHOT. Holmes has taken to visiting him in prison. Holmes/Coward preslash, mentions of Blackwood/Coward and Holmes/Watson slash.


Authoress' Notes:

I've been working on this piece for a while now, and I'm still not sure about it, but I'm hoping you guys will like it. The idea came when the first line just popped into my head, fully formed, and I just ran with it.

When it comes to Coward's dream, I've taken a little liberty and given him sleep paralysis. Most people will only get it a couple times in their life, but I'm one of those (un)lucky enough to have had it at least ten times thus far. So, I figure I'm qualified to write it, but feel free to tell me if you disagree.

Disclaimer: If I owned it, the gay would be _way_ more obvious.

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**Visiting Hours**

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Holmes has taken to visiting him in prison.

The first time, Coward is in shock, and dully accepts the Great Detective's decision to bring him confirmation of Lord Blackwood's fate personally without question. He faces the window, silently trying to control his tears, and notices vaguely that the detective remains, as though to give him comfort. He thinks it an odd kindness, to be sure, but by that time he is in no mood to refuse kindness, no matter who gives it.

The second time, a few weeks later, Holmes claims to be on the hunt for information regarding one of Standish's London contacts, but even after Coward informs him that he was never terribly close to the man, Holmes still remains, asking useless questions that lead to nowhere. Holmes looks, Coward thinks, a little ill, thinner than he remembered, but is as lively and intriguing as ever, and when he leaves, Coward is left wondering what the man's true agenda is.

The third time, Coward is growing quite suspicious, and as soon as Holmes steps out of the shadows into the pool of light cast by the torch outside of his cell, Coward clears his throat.

"Why do you continue to visit me, Holmes?" His voice is hoarse, because he only speaks when Holmes is here, other than to tell the morning guard, Nicholas, to be quiet and leave him in peace. Holmes seems the only object of interest left in his life, but he finds it a bit irritating that Holmes seems to be garnering amusement from seeing him in his cell. Holmes doesn't reply, instead turning so that his back is to the stone wall and sliding down to sit in front of Coward's cell door. Coward isn't sure what to say, if anything, so he stays silent. Let Holmes speak if he wants.

Apparently, Holmes does _not_ want, because he leaves an hour later, silent as ever. Coward watches him walk away, still wondering what Holmes is playing at.

The third visit bleeds into the fourth, and then the fifth and the sixth, until Coward has lost count. Sometimes, Holmes invents a pretense for coming by ("these murders, are they the sort the members of your Order would be involved in?"), and sometimes he just appears. Sometimes he's well-dressed, shaved and groomed, and other days he staggers in with bruises blossoming on his face and blood dried on the corner of his mouth. He usually comes around two in the afternoon, unless he's in an oddly energetic mood, in which case he comes at another time, whether it's nine o'clock in the morning or half past midnight-- the guards appear used to this sort of behavior, and generally let him in without question.

One night, Coward is caught in the clutches of a nightmare. The devil himself must be in the room, or maybe it's just Lord Blackwood, because Coward can feel someone watching him, waiting for him to succumb to death, and again and again he bolts upright in his bed, gasping for air, only to fall back into the confusing, unsettling dream world inhabited by shadows of familiarity forever out of his reach. He struggles to wake, knows this is a dream, but the effort of keeping his eyes open is one of the most Herculean tasks he's ever confronted. He succeeds at last, and with a shuddering jolt of his heart, finds himself sitting up, awake at last.

It isn't until his sleep-fogged brain registers the harsh, panting breaths coming from outside of his cell that he realizes the reason he's finally awake. Holmes is standing there, looking at him with oddly bright eyes, and his shirt sleeves are rolled up to the elbow. Coward realizes he hasn't seen Holmes' arms in months, since the detective was in handcuffs in his office, and he sees with a feeling of nausea that the man's arms are covered in dozens of red pinpricks, some old and scabbed over, some new, and one still noticeably bleeding. His eyes dart back up to meet Holmes', and the detective's eyes really are far, _far_ too bright, and Coward finds he can barely breathe as Holmes slides slowly down the wall until he's sitting across from Coward's door.

Coward doesn't say anything, but Holmes speaks anyways, voice shaking almost as wildly as his hands. "Watson's angry with me," he mutters feverishly, and Coward can't help but listen intently. "Back from his _honeymoon_," Holmes spits, face contorting in a very ugly way as he says the word, and Coward is surprised to find he's surprised at the truth painted across Holmes' face. It should have been obvious, after all, especially in light of his own unnatural inclinations.

"He should have realized, by now, that she's just not _right_ for him, but of course he never could just admit I was right, could he?" Holmes' words are running together now, and Coward is fairly certain even Holmes isn't sure exactly what he's saying. "Jealous, I think, of my superior intellect. Many are."

Without realizing it, Coward has been leaning forward, trying to catch the quiet words, but he jumps back as Holmes suddenly lunges forward. "But is that any reason, _any_ reason, to stoop to such lows? I ask you Coward, is jealousy reason enough to _blindly_ refuse to see another's side of things? Is stubbornness reason to deny a man his happiness?" Coward suspects the argument works both ways, but he's beyond words at this point. The very _idea_ of Holmes in such a state is disturbing, but to see it?

"Should've known he'd turn against me, though," Holmes growls darkly, and the tremors in his hands seem worse than ever. "Should have realized it was too good to be true." Coward is at a loss for what to do as the man suddenly slumps to the ground, lying there limply. Ought he to call the guard? But before he can do a thing, Holmes is speaking again, still on his back, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

"You know something, Coward?" At the pause, Coward makes a noncommital noise, which Holmes apparently takes as a cue to go on. "I think I understand you." He lifts his head slightly and turns it to look into Coward's eyes, but Coward's not sure Holmes is actually seeing him. "Known it ever since the day Blackwood died." At his nervous jump at the mention of Blackwood's name, Holmes laughs. "Come now, man, won't do to be jumping at ghosts, will it? No, you and I are more alike than you realize." He makes an odd sound, a grimace of pain, and shifts slightly on the stone floor. "After all, we've both lost..." His eyes cross, uncross, and he tries again. "We've both lost the most..." But Holmes' eyes slide close, and within moments he is breathing slowly, evenly, on the floor, though his hands still shake.

Coward doesn't sleep the rest of that night, but sits in his bed, staring at Holmes' unconscious form, until Nicholas comes by to bring him his breakfast, and calls two men to carry the snoring detective out.

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Mmm, that was fun. I'm more satisfied with the ending than I'd thought I'd be, which is good.

Speaking of good, I got my own copy of Bulfinch's Mythology yesterday-- I mean the _complete_ one. I'm so excited! :D

Please review!


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